Tap Water and Tea
by chshrkitten
Summary: A week after rehearsals begin for Don Juan, Christine gets a visitor to her flat. Oneshot, canon-compliant. CW: the b-word is used once, but not in reference to a specific person.


Christine had barely been home long enough to put away her sleet-soaked shoes when she heard a tapping at the door. She groaned quietly. For a moment, she was tempted to just ignore the visitor until they left, but they continued rapping lightly on the door without a pause.

"I'm coming, one moment!"

The tapping stopped.

Christine opened the door, and before she could say a word, La Carlotta Guidicelli breezed into her flat as though she'd been there a hundred times before. The woman's spike-heeled shoes left dotted depressions in the thin brown rug as she turned, looking around with undisguised curiosity. She walked over to Christine's bookshelf, and examined the spines. She picked one out, idly admiring the cover of Christine's favorite book of fairy tales, one of the few things she'd had since she was a child. "This is pretty." She traced the curve of one gilt-embossed letter with a long, manicured pointer finger.

"Thank you." Christine strode over, gently tugging the book out of her erstwhile rival's hands and setting it back in its place on the shelf. "What are you doing here?" _I shouldn't be so blunt, but- well, actually, why shouldn't I be, to her?_

"I wanted to speak with you. I planned to earlier, you see, but there never seemed to be time at the Garnier, so I thought I'd come find you here. Moncharmin gave me the address."

 _Of course he did. Moncharmin would give anyone anything, if they flattered him._ "Well, what did you want to talk about?"

Carlotta made a production of sinking into Christine's chair, arranging her coat and skirts around her as though about to sit for a portrait. Christine watched her for a moment. Then, warily, she herself sat down in the window seat.

Carlotta regarded her for a long moment. _Is she thinking, or just trying to make me wait?_ "You made an interesting scene in the managers' office last week, Christine Daaé."

Christine could feel herself flush, remembering how she had stormed out, and then remembering her words: _you evil woman, how dare you..._ at the time, she'd felt almost proud of herself. Now, the whole thing just seemed petty and foolish. "Well, I wasn't trying to." She answered at last.

"Well, don't be sorry! You need to stand up for yourself more, really. It would bring a bit more fire to your roles...still, I did not come to discuss that. You truly didn't put the phantom up to his tricks, did you?"

The question was put to her so abruptly that Christine wouldn't have had time to think of an evasive reply even if she had wanted to. "No, of course not!"

"But you know him. Or, more accurately, he knows you."

There was a tense silence in the front room then, broken only by the soft hiss of sleet from outside the windows. "Yes." Christine said at last. "I suppose he does."

The older woman nodded slowly. "And you dislike that." Although she phrased it as a statement, the question was clear in her green eyes.

"I do now, yes." Christine said. She almost wanted to lie, to preserve the truth of her relationship with Erik as a private part of herself, but it was obviously too late for that now.

"It got you a finer part than you could have imagined on your own."

"I didn't ask for that!" Carlotta's finely plucked eyebrows rose at the unexpected harshness of Christine's tone. "I'm sorry. It's just, I honestly didn't ask for any of this. I don't want…"

"You don't want the largest and most conspicuous part in the season?" Carlotta shook her head, giving a short, disbelieving laugh. "Anyone would. If you don't, you should get out of the theater business."

"I didn't mean…" Christine broke off, but tried again, feeling the need to explain herself. "I just don't want anyone getting hurt. I never wanted anyone getting hurt." The truth rang in the air for a moment, and Christine started to wonder what was compelling her to sit here and explain herself to _Carlotta Guidicelli_ of all people.

Carlotta regarded her with what looked like calm surprise. "I was so certain," she said as if to herself. "That this, the whole wounded flower thing you do, was just an act."

"Well, you-"

"Aren't you going to offer your guest something to drink?"

"Forgive me." Christine snapped. "I wasn't expecting visitors." Still, she got up and went to the kitchen. "Alright, I have water, and…" she paused. "Water. I have water." She gave a small, embarrassed laugh. "I haven't had time to go shopping recently."

"Water is fine." Carlotta said, smiling almost warmly. "I know how that is. I've been stuck at the Garnier at all hours too since rehearsals began, for all that my part is all of two scenes."

"I am sorry about that, by the way. You deserve to play a more central character." Christine forced herself to admit. _Be the bigger person, Christine. It's true. Also, if you flatter her sufficiently, maybe she'll go away._

"I know. But that's what happens when the composer has a personal grudge against you: you end up playing the jilted lover of some silly boy in velvet pants."

"I don't think Don Juan would wear velvet-"

Carlotta raised one elegant eyebrow. "Really?"

"Alright, he absolutely would." Christine conceded, laughing for the first time in days, and handing Carlotta her glass of water as she sat down. Making Carlotta leave seemed suddenly less pressing. Out of honest curiosity, she asked "So, you and the phantom have met?"

"We've spoken." Carlotta tapped her nails almost meditatively on the side of her drinking glass, clearly mulling over how to phrase her next sentence. "As you may have gathered, we do not see eye to eye on everything, but we used to have a working professional relationship."

"Really?"

"Yes. I'll be honest, he has good ideas about the choruses and ballet, sometimes. His ear for detail is certainly better than Firmin can boast."

Christine nodded. "I believe that. So, you used to work with him, somehow?" She pressed.

"Not really. It's more that, until recently, we used to leave each other alone. Then, two seasons ago, he decided it was time for me to retire." She laughed, strident and harsh. "As though anyone could make Carlotta Guidicelli leave the stage."

Not certain what to say, Christine said nothing. But Carlotta continued anyway, seeming to want to keep the silence away.

"You'll understand this someday. When you start to get older, when you're no longer the prettiest young thing in Paris, you will understand. It doesn't matter what your voice sounds like- or do you think half the men in the audience come to the opera for the art?"

Christine remembered the whistles, the stares, the hoots from the louder audience members. She remembered the catcalls and laughter at the fake kiss during nearly every performance of _Il Muto._ She remembered the costumes seeming to close in around her as she stepped onto the stage and felt hundreds of stares weighing her down. "No, not really. But that doesn't mean the art isn't there. Some of the viewers love the music, just as I do. Just as I always will. Knowing that…" she finished more quietly. "Well, that's still important."

"I agree." Carlotta admitted. "But that doesn't mean the stage isn't-"

"A cruel mistress. So they say."

Carlotta laughed. "Actually, they say that the stage is a tough bitch to serve. But maybe they don't speak that version around your delicate little ears."

Christine flushed, frustration rising up in her core. "I'm not a child! I don't know why everyone insists on treating me as though I am!"

Carlotta laughed again. "Because they can, my dear. You're everyone's precious little ingenue."

"Well, I wish I wasn't." _I sound more like a little girl than ever._

Carlotta shrugged. "Then change something. That isn't my problem." She stood suddenly. "I must get home. Ubaldo's making me dinner tonight."

"That's nice." Christine said.

A fond smile briefly shaped her red lips. "It is." Gathering her coat, she headed for the door, but paused at the sound of the younger woman's voice.

"Wait." Christine had stood up with her, but stayed by the window. "Would you like to come over again sometime? I promise to actually have tea to make you next time." Perhaps inviting her of all people over again was a strange decision, but Christine had to admit that some parts of the conversation had been truly enjoyable. She had forgotten how nice it was to talk to another woman as adults- Little Meg Giry was very sweet, and a surprisingly good friend for someone eight years her junior, but the girl was still only thirteen years old.

Carlotta laughed. "Well, who doesn't like tea? I have a little time the day after tomorrow, in the afternoon."

"That would work."

"Well, alright then."

They stood there a little awkwardly for a minute, before Carlotta swept out the door just as imperiously as she had come.


End file.
